After Karen showed me the numbers, I sat down and calculated what bread storage had actually been costing me.
Not the bags. The bread itself.
Every loaf that went moldy before I could finish it. Every batch of slices that got freezer burn. Every time the texture was so wrong after thawing that I didn't even want to eat it.
Conservative estimate: I was wasting about $6 worth of ingredients per week.
I had so many questions before I ordered, so I reached out to Henri directly. He responded the same day.
"Does it make the bread smell like honey or wax?"
"There's a faint honey scent when it first arrives," Henri wrote back. "It fades within a day or two. We've never had a single complaint about flavor transfer. Not one."
He was right. Three months in, I've never tasted anything but bread.
"How do you clean it?"
"This is where we're completely different," he explained. "The beeswax liner separates from the cotton bag. Wash the cotton normally. For the beeswax, just turn it inside out and run it under cold water with a little soap. The cheap ones can't do this—their wax layer is so thin it would never hold up on its own. Ours is thick enough to handle real cleaning."
Takes about a minute. And it's actually clean—not "wipe and hope" like the cheap ones.
"How long does it last?"
"My grandmother used hers for over 20 years. With normal use, you're looking at 10-20 years minimum. One bag, years of use."
After a few more emails, I told Henri how much this had changed things for me. How I wished I'd found it years ago. How I wanted to share it with other bakers stuck in the same freezer trap.
He surprised me.
"Let's do something for your readers," he said. "Anyone who comes through your article—buy one, get one free. $39 for two bags."
I thought he was joking. That's barely above cost.
"I'd rather have two bags in a kitchen that gets used," he said, "than one bag sitting in a warehouse."
So that's the deal. But I don't know how long he'll keep it open.